Last night I was a weepy mess, due in part to fretting over my sons injury and in part to severe sleep deprivation. Add in a dose of adrenaline let down and you had me. Mess.
Also, last night, Bub went to bed at seven and didn't wake until 1am. A marked improvement over the night before when, at 1am, we had slept for maybe 30 minutes total. A cracker, some water, more Tylenol and a story and he was out until 7:00. I woke up feeling human again.
For the record, I know that this is something that I'm going to deal with in bulk over the next number of years. He's a boy. They fall, bleed, get hurt. I'll probably come to appreciate the valet parking at my children's hospital, more than words can say. I also know that he'll heal. He'll walk again. But, he's my baby. And at two, still in many senses, a baby. It's hard to explain why he can't get down and run around, or why he has to settle for a sponge bath and washing his hair in the sink.
Now that I'm out of the my baybee is broooken stage, I'm into the harsh reality stage.
Things that are currently difficult:
- Diaper changes
- Explaining to him that we can't take the splint off, no matter how much it itches
- Finding activities that keep him occupied while in a sitting position (It's not so much finding the activities as it is convincing him that they're worth participating in)
- Meals. He can't sit in his booster seat because of the location of the splint, so we've been feeding him on the couch. Trying to keep crumbs and such out of his splint is not so easy. Oh sure, we could drape something over his lap, but he seems to understand that this is making things easier for us, and refuses to keep himself covered.
- Not falling into the trap of keeping the TV on all day.
- Not spoiling him rotten.
- Seeing his face crumple as he reminds me that "It's not better."
- Realizing that last night's sleep was probably a fluke as we're nearly three hours past bedtime with no sign of sleep in sight.
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